


Cold bones & Heavy hearts

by EnemiesWithBenefits



Series: self insert undertale [11]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Dusttale, Alternate Universe - Underfell, Alternate Universe - mafiatale, Biting, Blood, Clawing, Death, Dominant / Submissive Roles, Drabbles, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Guns, Heavy Petting, Mentions of past noncon, Multi, Oral Sex, Other, Power Play, Pregnancy, Riding, Rough Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vague, established relationships - Freeform, mentions of abuse, oneshots, voyerism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-08 20:18:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10395261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnemiesWithBenefits/pseuds/EnemiesWithBenefits
Summary: A collection of Undertale drabbles & oneshots written by strikes of inspiration. Requests are open, although may be used more as guidelines rather than actually being taken; the majority of this will be Sans x Reader & smut, with the occasional exceptions.As always, enjoy!





	1. Behind Grillby's

“ * oh - oh _fuck._ ”

 

He’s always _so_ impatient.

 

“ Sans - sans slow _do -_ ”

 

You’re quickly quieted by his teeth against your lips, tongue and canines flashing in a display that says nothing more than to shut up and _submit._ You know this part so well, body twisting away from his own, a breathless smile behind every touch, the sharpness of his eye-lights and rumbling chest your anchor in this underworld of his making.

 

“ * mmm, how’s ‘bout ya get on yer knees, sweetheart? ”

 

He lets you go from the kiss with obvious reluctance, gaze burning with lights blown and thick in his sockets. They see everything, from your fluttering ribcage to the way surprise blooms red, skin-deep from your cheeks to your chest. Standing in front of you, back to the brick wall, there is nothing that tells you he might be joking - especially with that familiar shark’s grin bearing down upon you.

 

Hungry. Merciless. Predator.

 

“ Out h-here? ” _Behind Grillby’s? In the open? in the snow?_

 

You regret asking the moment it tumbles out of your mouth.

 

“ * maybe ya didn’ hear me clear ‘nough - ” The feeling of his magic, soul-deep and gripping every stitch of your being in an all-encompassing hold ( safe, warm, _loved_ ) will never grow old. Despite the gentle reminder of his magic’s intent, the way he shoves you to your knees with it is anything but. You grunt as the air is forced from your lungs, snow soaking through your clothes - you’ll need to be quick; it’s hard not to shiver as is, even with that iconic jacket of his around your shoulders. “ * - but i said, _on yer fuckin’ knees._ ”

 

“ Sans please - ”

 

“ * beggin’ already? ” Cutting you off, his magic has already abandoned you, and despite your freedom to stand, you don’t dare. His left eye-socket is in flames that flicker high above, the right empty, and yet you know he’s looking at you; he always is, that gaze nothing less than a will, _command,_ of it’s own. _Submit._

 

Wasting no time at all, you swallow down your pride and words, hands already reaching for his shorts - his own join you, phalanges burning with heat against your prickling, cold skin. His shorts and boxers are down before you can even say anything, cock standing to attention, always surprising you with its size every time you see it.

 

You lick your lips, eyes glittering in the cold snow of the night, gaze going from his member to the lecherous grin he graces you with, expecting and cruel. One of his hands finds your hair, bony fingers tight and woven against your scalp, another unspoken command. You take initiative, falling into muscle memory - finding his femurs, his pelvis, ready to ground yourself for when you’ll need it most.

 

Only this time your hands _shake,_ your breath puffing white smoke like a dragon’s exhaust, legs trembling from the cold and the heat raging between them all the same. He must notice your hesitation - chest rumbling, his spine and ribs clack together, resonating in a low growl only he could possess. Something that frightens you and makes you gasp all the same, striking a bolt down your spine and between your legs. A warning.

 

A word dances on the tip of your tongue, fingers curling around his sturdy, warm bones.

 

At any moment, you could end this.

 

You don’t.

 

“ * ya know what ta do, don’t’cha, dollface? ” Tugging on your hair, pulling you closer to his warmth, his cock twitches, leaking; all for you.

 

He’s always _so_ inpatient.


	2. Right Through

“ * jeez, ya look _soaked -_ no, not like _that_ , an’ don’ gimme that look; pap’s right there. ”

 

Rolling your eyes, it's hard not to elbow him in the ribs - he's right though, you're drenched, dripping all over the wooden floor. Papyrus is going to _kill_ you.

 

“ This is all your fault. ” You have to hiss it out; he's right, his brother’s right there, and despite the fact the both of you are finally home due to the courtesy of his handy-dandy shortcuts, the tall skeleton won't hesitate to reprimand the both of you. _Especially_ when Sans is giving you that look, front still flush with his back, phalanges tracing your hip - you don't want the mood ruined by his overzealous brother getting in the way.

 

“ * you say that like ya don’t wanna run upstairs an’ have me help ya dry off, sweetheart. ”

 

Across the way, you can see into the kitchen where Papyrus bustles amongst the pots and pans he has set out; a rising din of clattering silverware - sans laughs when you gasp at the unexpected excursion of his phalange’s dipping past the hem of your sweats.

 

“ * c'mon, babe - i can't _wait_ to get upstairs. ”

 

Another shuddering wave of your body - breath hitching, his pointer rolls your clit above your underwear. You give in as he begins to tug you away from his brother, a fool’s grin with those knowing eye-lights.

 

A trail of rainwater and clothes follow from there to Sans’ room - later, you'll find the mess still there, even if Papyrus isn't.


	3. Captain First

Above all else, he is a Captain first.

 

Captain before Boss.

 

Captain ( Boss ) before Papyrus.

 

Captain ( Boss, Papyrus ) before Brother.

 

Captain ( Boss, Papyrus, Brother ) before _yours._

 

You, _his_ , before all else.

 

Literally.

 

“Isn't - Isn't s-she _bea utiful?_ ”

 

Legs spread, your nails dig into the splintering wood of the desk beneath you, mouth open as you try not to scream. Directly in front of you is a line of sterling armor; men and women, _monsters,_ all here for the show.

 

Every one of them are either within inches of rushing for you ( planted feet, firm jaws, clenching fists ), touching themselves ( soft pants, hazy eyes, tented uniforms ), or calling demands - but only at their boss’ question do they speak;

 

“ Yes, c-captain. ”

 

“ s-so g orgeous - ”

 

“ _fuck_ , ”

 

There must be near a dozen of all the Captain’s willing monsters, watching you, only _you_.

 

All the while, gloved hands are all over you - he's fully clothed where you are naked, a hand gripping your nape in his best attempt to keep you _down,_ the other alternating from the inside of your thigh to spread your legs wider, to the span of the small of your back, to clawing down your spine. He's fucking you senseless, the _Captain,_ impaling you on his cock in an attempt to make you _scream,_ bending over only to scrape sharp fangs down your shoulder blades.

 

He never looks away from his soldiers; ever in charge.

 

Ever the Captain.


	4. Pay Your Dues

_your payment,_ his actions scream.

 

Grinning, a gun on that mahogany desk of his; cocked, loaded, a promise. Small in that grand chair upon which he sits, a throne for the underworld’s own Angel of death. Grin crooked, he calls you close, the lights illuminating his eye-sockets beacons; burning candles of interest you follow like a moth on fluttering wings.

 

 _I know,_ your compliance states.

 

Before him, you are another deal within a spider web of thousands; you are not the first he's reached for like this, saddling upon his waist. Sturdy bones support and poke, and yet he shows no discomfort - small and yet deadly, the reminder of such in the undercurrent of electricity beneath you; in the bruising strength of the phalanges holding your waist tight.

 

“ mmm, think i'd like ta see this, ” A hand fists the material of your shirt - your own hands idle, unsure of your permissions to touch, to move - “ elsewhere. maybe on th’floor. ”

 

It's not a request. It's a demand.

 

Your idle hands go to make quick work of it, but his burning gaze says something else entirely - _slow._

 

Grinding your teeth, you comply.

 

Slowly - _so slowly_ \- goes your shirt, thrown somewhere behind you. Whatever he sees through those crackling, empty, fiery eyes of his, he must like; his hands on your waist move - one splayed across your stomach ( solid, firm ), the other still tight on your hip but digging low, tracing patterns that lead under your pants.

 

“ i killed him for _this_. ”

 

It's a reminder that has you shaking, his teeth so close you can feel his smile against your neck. His magic _burns._

 

“ … y’know, seein’ you like this… ”

 

He rolls his pelvis upwards, so sudden and wanted you gasp, eyelids fluttering. The instinctual jerk of your hips has you leading another long grind against him which he returns, laughing darkly - up until his teeth scrape the flushed skin beneath your jaw.

 

Jugular.

 

You go so _very_ still.

 

“ makes me wonder…”

 

Fangs sharp, they prick so very delicately against the length of your throat; down, _down,_ to the base of your clavicle. Then he pulls away, flushed, the flames of his gaze sparking and dim; he looks broken, but still ever the king he is.

 

“ how many more will die so i can _keep_ seein’ you like this. ”

 

_nothing is free._


	5. Good Queen

Skin soft and yet so very thick, your stomach bulges, his touch reverent, gentle, feeling for what lies within. Shifting, you watch him and that which only he can see; that bumbling soul created between the two of you, burning so bright it hurts at times.

 

“ *d’ya still… ” You know what he's asking, but the answer he receives at first is a sigh, his phalanges idly tracing the stretch marks across your skin. For a moment, his gaze darkens, and you tense, knowing very well he could lash out at any moment.

 

“ … I was thinking of names. ” it's as good an answer as any - a better answer - his blue-red eye-lights ~~mad~~ dancing in relief, surprise, and wonder. At moments like these, with that rictus grin gone soft, you can almost pretend he wasn't the one to do this to you.

 

“ * yeah? like what? ” Skull dipping, it presses against your stomach; a weight you find oddly reassuring, the magic bubbling within warm and happy - it's blinded you, that much is clear. This child has made you a lover of your captor.

 

“ Echo? Or… Aleyra? Maybe Gara. ” Your suggestions are met with a snort; sitting up on your elbows, you throw him an irrationally lopsided smile - he's returning it, and even if it's the same look he wears with dust on his sleeves, it warms you even further. “ What? I don't see _you_ suggesting anything. ”

 

“ * it's just - fonts? really? an’ lemme guess, echo flowers? ya can be a little more original than - ”

 

Without warning, he stops - and you know why.

 

“ * did they just - ” He's looking between you and where his skull was resting moments prior, eye-sockets wide.

 

“ Kick? Yeah. ” You pause, and although it's redundant and you hate to admit it, the breathless wonder written across his skull is worth it. “ They're happy to see you, yknow. ”

 

“ * … ‘m happy to see you too, kiddo. ”


	6. Constellations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of chapter 4? A flashback from it? Who knows.
> 
> Maybe they're completely unconnected.

Bruises bleed like watercolors across your skin, colors and shapes marking you like a canvas, making you wince with every step. Hidden out of sight, only so very few of them are visible: nothing unexplained by your ever clumsy nature.

 

Not like many bothered to ask.

 

Each scar and mark lined your skin with the constellations of untold stories; weren't home on time; forgot the trash; spoke out of turn; _weren't paying attention -_

 

The wafting smell of whisky laced his every breath, every step, trailing you like a nightmare. It's hard not to wince when it stings the air, the opening of a back door making you tip your head up - seems you have company.

 

Out of the bar and out into the parking lot steps a tall monster, gloved hands stained and eyes flicking about before landing on you. Concern is written there easily enough for a skeleton, expression so very fluid and quick.

 

“ Human, are you alright? ”

 

You wince as you stand, a cautious, small smile thrown his way. You're fine; _you're fine._

 

“ I'm f ine. It's just c-cold. ” It's a blatant lie.

 

“ … You don't look very fine to me. ” His hands pause before wiping on the suit he's wearing, glimmering a stained maroon in the flashing headlights. Definitely not the kind of crowd you want to get mixed up in, as kind as this skeleton seems.

 

But he's right, you don't look _fine_ at all.

 

A hand cradles your stomach and you wave him off, smiling weakly. You asked for this; this red dripping to the dark cement beneath your feet. He must see it - or smell it, but he's a _skeleton_ \- because that concern becomes only more potent, stepping closer. Gaze furtive, he keeps looking from you to the side street only a few meters away.

 

“ Human. ” His tone is measured - because he _must_ know, right? And here you are, supposedly left for dead, where someone finally _cares._

 

Or, at least, sees enough value in you to keep you around.

 

“ Let me help. Please? ”

 

His hand is held out just as a black car comes into the small back lot, illuminating the monster long enough for you to grab a glance.

 

A three piece suit, with a gun tucked into the waistband. A silver pin rests above his breast pocket, far more dangerous than the blood staining his clothes.

 

Somewhere - in the bar behind him, you note mutedly - someone screams.

 

The car is idling; you can't see whoever's inside.

 

Blood runs down your hand; gritting your jaw, you fight the pain off just long enough to take his.

 

“ Tha nk you. ”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> underfell.
> 
> sans has always blamed you; it's hard to explain when he never gives you a chance.
> 
> now, he doesn't have to.

When he doesn't kill you, you know something's wrong.

 

Everything's numb. You know you're bleeding, but it's the hypothermia, the snow padding your body, that's really going to kill you.

 

Papyrus didn't even spare you a glance - no, he was far more focused on that child with the demon's grin and devil's knife from the very start, not your crumpling body.

 

You listened, helpless, as he crumbled to dust and heard them walk away like they hadn't left two bodies in their wake; all for the grinning monster of a skeleton to find.

 

You know the sound of his shuffling gait anywhere, and despite your body's Pavlovian response to run, it's a smile that finally stretches your lips. How many times has he killed you for this? For something that now, without a doubt, you _didn't do?_

_Couldn’t_ do?

 

You never killed his brother.

 

You tried to stop them, but you weren't enough. And now, you're dying to the sounds of a skeleton falling to his knees meters away, howling to the cavernous ceiling above, a dusty scarf in his hands.

 

You can't stop smiling, because at least - _at least_ next time, he might not kill you.

**Author's Note:**

> Contact my at my [New Tumblr](https://scripttura.tumblr.com), if you'd like!
> 
> Please leave a kudos / comment if you enjoyed!


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